


a reminder of humanity

by 90kg_anvil



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Plague, canon divergence but only in the +1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30134109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/90kg_anvil/pseuds/90kg_anvil
Summary: Dimitri sits on his stepmother's shoulders, marveling at the world around him."You're going to be this tall one day," she says, patting his tiny knee, "just like your father."five times dimitri is picked up and carried somewhere, and one time he does the carrying
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Blue Lions Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	a reminder of humanity

**Author's Note:**

> detailed warnings: the graphic violence tag is here because of the graphic depictions of illness and physical injury, as well as depiction of the aftermath of a slaughter (duscur). fhirdiad gets a respiratory plague, so tread with caution there (the descriptions are graphic and taken directly from my own experiences with nasty respiratory infections, and i put it into the context of a plague because faerghus is canonically susceptible to plagues. im not trying to make anything up about covid, nor did i even wish to invoke it; however, given literally everything that is going on in the world, i feel like this section needed its own warning and disclaimer). mention of starvation

i.

Dimitri sits on his stepmother's shoulders, marveling at the world around him.

"You're going to be this tall one day," she says, patting his tiny knee, "just like your father."

Dimitri is too young to comprehend the full ramifications of _growing up_. After all, he has only just started learning to use a sword.

"Really?" he asks, voice full of wonder. The view is truly spectacular from up here.

His father laughs, patting him on the head. Dimitri can't believe he's almost at eye level. "Well, maybe not _quite_ this tall. You might take after your mother!"

And Dimitri laughs, because his stepmother (she is, after all, the person who comes to mind when someone says _mother_ ) is shorter than most of the other adults he's met.

It's a sunny day in Fhirdiad. The leaves on the trees are green, the wind does not bite with its chill, and he is not wearing gloves. His stepmother's hair is soft, his father's hand warm. It is peaceful.

(Dimitri will remember this moment out of nowhere nearly two decades later, stumbling feverish and half-blind through a forest.

He will have no idea why.)

  
ii.

Burning flesh. Carnage. Ashes and smoke. The stench so thick he can taste it.

"Your Highness! Thank the Goddess you're still alive!"

...Is he?

Gustave's arms wrap around him and lift him up, up, and carry him away.

To physicians. To safety.

Dimitri can still hear the screaming.

  
iii.

Delighted laughter. Annette, he thinks. "Psst! Look! Dimitri fell asleep!"

Hm. Halfway true.

"Shh!" Ashe, this time. "You'll wake him up!"

A scoff. Felix. Dimitri frowns, settles his face more securely into his pillow.

Hmm. Yes. Good, cozy---

"Well, shouldn't we wake him up?" Ingrid asks. "This is still class."

"We're _fishing_ ," Sylvain counters, indignant.

Damn it.

"He's seemed awfully tired lately," Mercedes adds quietly. "Maybe we should let him rest."

"I agree," Dedue says. "For several weeks, he has been up late, training relentlessly until the early morning."

Dimitri grumbles a little. They're going to wake him up for real if they keep talking.

"All of you are disrupting the fish," his pillow deadpans, then sighs. "I'm taking him back to his room."

Dimitri does not have time to make a noise of protest before Byleth gently slings him over their shoulder and stands up.

His arms are dangling. His ass is on display. He must look thoroughly ridiculous.

He is too tired to care.

Byleth hums a slow, unfamiliar lullaby as they walk, and Dimitri drifts off well before they reach the dorms.

  
iv.

Dimitri curls deeper into himself with each ragged cough.

Like everyone else in the slums, he's come down with the fucking plague.

He whines, he sobs, he gasps for breath. It doesn't matter. He's laying on his side in some Goddess-forsaken alley, and it hurts, and it's cold, and he's going to die alone.

Weak. Pathetic.

"What kind of son are you, to give up so easily?"

"You must avenge us!"

Well. Almost alone.

Another deep cough that wracks him to his core, makes him fight to take a new breath.

It _hurts_.

"Oh, shit. We got another one. Hey! Help me out over here!"

...What?

Dimitri does not even have the strength to fight back as hands grab at him and --- wait --- roll him onto his back?

"Lift on three. One, two, three---!"

Dimitri is lifted. Oh. He must be on some kind of stretcher. When did they get that under him?

More coughing. More gasping. He cracks an eye open, and he can't see shit with his hair and cloak in the way.

"Oh! Here! Let me help!"

...Mercedes?

Dimitri is jostled a little, and it shifts his hood just enough for him to see. Yep. Even with the plague mask, that's definitely her hair color.

She seems to notice him staring, turns toward him with what he imagines is a smile. "Hey, there! We're here to help you out! Just going to set you down someplace warm, and one of our medics will get to you as soon as we can, all right?"

He wheezes pathetically in response.

She doesn't recognize him at all.

"Right here."

"Next to the---"

"Yeah. Put him down on three. One. Two. Three."

Dimitri is set down and rolled onto his side again.

"Are you going to retrieve the sheet?" Mercedes asks.

A pause. "Let him keep it."

"For the burial," his uncle clarifies, crueler than he was in life.

 _Wait_ , Dimitri tries to say, _please don't leave me_.

Only air comes out.

  
v.

"Oh, fuck," Hilda says, strapping Freikugel to her back. "You just _had_ to get yourself hurt, huh?"

"I am --- fine," Dimitri insists, barely keeping upright.

"Bullshit. Here, give me one of your arms."

Dimitri complies. Hilda shoulders his weight easily. "Come on. Don't make me do all the work."

He does his best to walk, but it's a genuine challenge, even with Hilda's help.

Wait.

"Is Derdriu safe?"

"Sure is! Thank you for that, by the way."

Dimitri trips over something --- nothing? --- and has to cling to Hilda like a child to avoid faceplanting onto the street.

Hilda stops dead in her tracks and blasphemes loudly.

"What?" Dimitri asks, anxious. Are there still enemies?

"You owe me for this," Hilda complains, then unstraps Freikugel and shifts so she's right in front of Dimitri. "Hop on up."

Ah. Piggyback. The last time he did this, Glenn was the one offering rides.

Dimitri does a piss-poor job of jumping, but Hilda is short enough that she easily catches him anyway. After a few moments of readjusting, she sets off.

This is... so much better, actually. He might even make it back to the medic tent fully conscious.

"Ugh. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get bloodstains out of this outfit?"

"My sincerest apologies."

Dimitri truly cannot be bothered to give a shit.

"It's hours of scrubbing with cold water."

...Hmm. On second thought, this is actually kind of funny. "Is that so?"

"Mhm! Not like you'd understand, Mr. Black Armor. It must be so nice to just wipe it down every day, huh?"

Her homeland was nearly conquered, her liege lord nearly slaughtered, her people nearly subjugated, and here she is, complaining about _laundry_.

Dimitri starts laughing. He can't help it.

Hilda huffs. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. By the way, you're really light for an armored unit."

Dimitri laughs harder.

Five years of starvation will do that to you.

"Seriously, does the Kingdom not have enough rations, or--- there's the medic tent. HEY! I GOT DIMITRI!"

An elixir and fluids quickly fix him up, and he's back on his feet before dark. As much as he might like to sleep off the residual pain, there's far too much to do, especially since the Alliance is considering joining forces.

And if the new troops come bearing the bulk of this year's harvest from Gloucester, well, Dimitri certainly isn't going to complain.

  
+1

Dimitri laughs. "You know that I can only carry three of you on each arm!"

His kids --- _the children at his orphanage_ \--- pout en masse.

He puts a hand on his chest, smiling playfully to show he's nowhere near upset. "Come now! I cannot make my arms any longer!"

"Aw!"

"But Mr. Dimitri---"

Sylvain chuckles fondly as he steps outside, door closing behind him softly. "Still trying to get rides? How about we form a line again, okay?"

The kids do, with a minimum of complaint.

Dimitri cannot help smiling as Sylvain walks up to him. "Is D-I-N-N-E-R ready?"

The kids are getting much better at literacy, but it's better to play it safe and avoid a tiny riot.

"Sure is," Sylvain says, smiling back at him like every hearth Dimitri has ever sought shelter by.

He has laugh lines these days.

(Even after all this time, it still blows Dimitri away that he's lived long enough to be happy. That they _both_ have.)

Sylvain tucks a stray lock of hair behind Dimitri's ear and Dimitri leans into the contact, wedding band warm against his cheek.

Dimitri can't help it.

He leans in and steals a kiss.

"Ugh!! Kissing!"

"Gross!"

"Can I get lifted now?"

"Ewww!"

Sylvain laughs, eyes crinkling, and Dimitri joins him.

Life is good.


End file.
